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EPITOME OF NEWS.

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AGRICULTURE.I

AN ENGLISH ARTIST TAKEN BY…

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AN ENGLISH ARTIST TAKEN BY BRIGANDS. A Mr. W. R. Oliver, a young artist, who for the last two or three years has been pursuing the study of his art in Italian scenery, has sent the following letter to his friends. The letter bears the postmark, Albano, 7 Giu," and was written from Nemi, where he had been staying some few weeks, and from which place he started on the 30th of May last, for a sketching excursion: I am writing this in bed and in pain, and so weak as hardly to be able to hold my pen, and I will tell you as shortly as possible what has hap- pened that has laid me so low. I left Nemi the other day for one of the villages among the mountains, either Cora, or Ceprani, or Valletri, or somewhere by the borders of the Papal States, at the back of the hills where no one goes. I got a sort of farmer for a guide who was going some round on mules with my knapsack. I left the rest in the environs, as no car- riage of any kind can anyhow get up the paths, and often there is not any path at all. It was Tuesday evening; we were going along a dreadfully uneven path round the edge of a hill, and I got tired of the everlasting jog of my mule, and so got off and started to go over the top of the hill to see the sunset on these wild mountains, and join my man on the other side. I got up to the top, and was walking over to see the path on the other side, when I was spied out by some of the blackguard brigands who infest these places. I did not see them until two fellows came behind me, and one seized my right arm and tried to send me back; but I stood firm, though it was a shock, and at the same moment I hit the other fellow with my left hand, and sent him back; and then I got out my pistol, and I fired it into the shoulder of the first while we got hold of each other; in fact, I had nearly done for him, but another fellow came up at the moment, after and stabbed me, and then I don't quite recollect how it all was, for we all three struggled with each other, as the one I had sent back with my left arm came' up, and it was knives and scufflesbut I know I fired again, and hit, it; seems, one in the hand, and fell, and: we rolled over the rocks together, for I had been bleed- ing a great deal, and dislocated my shoulder in rol- ling over the stones, and was a good deal bruised; bat I believe I should have beaten them, for we were all three down, but there were three guns levelled at my head, and a movement would have cost my life, so I gave in, though now I don't think they would have killed me if they could help it, because seeing a stranger without baggage their idea was to take me and got a ransom, which is what they nearly always do now. Then they all carried me, all over blood and in great pain, though I did not know at the time in the least where I was wounded; then we got up a sort of hole in the rocks, and an old woman, a filthy old beast, began to pull me aoour to do up my wounds, but I was in such an awful passion that I sent her over, and caught up a knife lying on the ground, and made a, desperate stab at the first fellow who had come up to me, but I had lost such a lot of blood that the exertion made me lose consciousness, but I came back again after a bit, and I let them bind me up, but my shoulder gave me the worst pain. I felt it was dis- located (it is set now, and is going on pretty welt). However, I suppose I was so exhausted that after a time Ifellasleep on the cloaks and thingsonasortof mattress they put forme, and did not wake till next morning, and then I suffered horribly from the cuts on my shoulder, and the head man came up and we had a talk, in which I told him what a blackguard he was, &o.; and he, on his part, just summed it all up that, if within twenty-four hours I did not get 250 scudi (about < £ 52) I should be shot. I told him the impossibility, but it was of no use; he said there was every possibility of messengers and arrangement. There was not a soul in Rome I knew1, as all have gone away now. So. there was nothing to do but to send to the farmer who brought me on the way-and who, by-the-bye., bolted directly he heard the shots and row. I told him how he ought to have known that my baggage was worth .9 more than the money, and I swore by the Madcnna. I would pay him and so he set about to collect it, but he could only get about 200 scudi. It did not come until the morning after the next day, and the beggars said they would not take it: but after a bit they said they would let me go if I would hatid over the 200 scudi and leave a hostage for the rest. I think they thought I should die, and be worth nothing. I was glad enonghto send this proposal, and waited anxiously for the answer; and at last it came, saying that a man had consented to be my hos tage for 20 scudi, and I got back yesterday. I'm writing ibout' and sending for the other 23.2, but I don't at all know whom to send to, as if I write to anybody who is anything in authority they will certainly send some soldiers, ar, d the moment there is an alarm the first thing my blackguards will do will be to shoot the man who is there in my stead, unless I rush back myself. I must get it somehow, but in the meantime I beg you, for God's sake, not to lose a moment, but to send me X60 in circular notes, or somehow, but as quickly as possible, as I am in a dreadful state of anxiety. I am better, and out of danger, but my anxiety makes me worse, and I suffer a great deal. Address thus Genzano, per Nemi, Stati Pontifici.' Send the money addressed here, where I have got back again." The money was speedily sent him.

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